


The Grief of a Thousand Worlds Hung Upon His Shoulders

by blogotron9000



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Gen Work, Infinity War (Marvel Comics), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Spoilers, hug it out, someone give thor a puppy please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 07:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14491791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blogotron9000/pseuds/blogotron9000
Summary: Infinity Wars spoilers!! Thor takes a few moments to reel in the aftermath and to remind himself that there is, in fact, still more to be lost.





	The Grief of a Thousand Worlds Hung Upon His Shoulders

The people of Wakanda do not linger, do not weep and rend their clothing over their lost companions, over their king. What was a battlefield quickly becomes a field hospital, sorting triage into three categories: the wounded. The slain. And the missing, the dead who will never receive a hero's burial

Thor helps wordlessly. His arms still have strength left in them; there is no greater purpose remaining than to heft fallen war-machines to search for those still trapped beneath, than to carry wounded warriors back to the lines of medics who can provide the care they need.

He leaves Stormbreaker where it has fallen. He needs his hands free, and there is no more fitting memorial for the departed than this. It is a small gravestone, when measured against half the universe, but it is all he has.

Natasha is the first to approach, when the sun has rolled down toward the beautiful peaks of Wakanda. It's strange to think that there is still beauty in the world--pleasant and cruel all at once. "All right, big man. Time to come with me."

Thor casts a look back over his shoulder. The ruined husks of Thanos's ships still linger in ugly parody of the Wakandan mountains. Foothills of war-beast carcasses stain the soil black. "Too much work still to do."

"And we'll do it." She takes his hand. Her fingers are so much smaller than his; he closes his fist carefully to avoid crushing them. "But even gods have to eat."

Cooking fires lick at the gathering darkness, but cannot hold it back for good. Night settles in as a Wakandan woman with salt stains on her cheeks hands Thor a bowl; she pauses, then hands him two more before ushering him along. The spices are unfamiliar--the flavors of Asgardian cooking depend heavily on "smoked and flame-broiled"--but they are warm and fragrant.

By the time he turns away from the food line, Natasha has disappeared. That is her superpower, such as it is. He is disappointed, and relieved. He longs for company and cannot bear it. He eats alone, and quickly, and moves off again to join those working to clear the once-green Wakandan fields.

As he hefts the wreckage of one of the downed ships, thunderous footsteps shake the soil beneath him. He spins, ready to fight--fighting, like heavy work, is a purpose that he understands instinctively. But it is only Banner, still in that massive suit of Stark's design. The helmet is gone, lost to the battle or discarded for its weight, and Banner's head is incongruously small in the opening at the top. "Hey," he says, and the battered armor screams as he points to the broken fragment of metal Thor holds. "I can help with that."

Thor nods, and Banner lifts the piece from the other end. Together they maneuver it around weary Wakandans and add it to the maw of a massive recycling engine. The Wakandan king's sister--shamefully, Thor has lost his grasp on both their names--stands beside it. Her face is drawn but she stands tall, tapping furiously on the tablet she cradles in one arm. Thor turns away without greeting her. Or apologizing. There are some things too terrible to frame with words.

"You know," says Banner, stopping Thor short before he can move to part ways once more. "I thought--when I saw you come down outta the sky like that, I thought--I thought if anyone could do it, it was you." He claps Thor on the shoulder with one mighty metal hand, as if this statement is a kindness and not a back-breaking blow. Thor tries to take it as intended, forces a smile and a nod, and makes it to the shelter of a line of trees--out of Banner's sight--before his legs give way. He digs his fingers into the soil and lets his head fall forward until it rests on the back of his wrists.

"Thor?" A shadow shifts. Steve Rogers is folded up against the trunk of a gnarled tree. He sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "You all right?"

Thor pushes upward and makes it as far as his knees. Before he can muster a passable answer, Rogers sighs. "That's a damn stupid question, isn't it? _All right._ There's no all right left." He looks at Thor, or perhaps not at him, precisely, but somewhere over his shoulder. "The raccoon caught me up on where you've been. I'm sorry about your family. Your people. God. I'm so sorry."

The raccoon? Oh--the rabbit. Thor doesn't bother correcting Rogers. His jaw works and he says instead, in spite of himself, "Do you remember when the worst we feared was the destruction of a city? When it was only my brother's jealousy to contend with, and not the mad whims of a Titan who held all the powers of the universe in his hand?"

"I remember a lot of stuff." Roger's mouth twists. "I remember flipping my lid at Tony. About him not being willing to make the sacrifice play, when it's the only play left." He spreads his hands wide. They're covered in dirt, or perhaps ash. "What do you do when you sacrifice everything and it's still not enough?" His voice breaks on that last word: _enough_.

Thor's good eye burns; the other, the false borrowed one, only aches somewhere unreachable. "To lose my mother," he says. "My father, my hammer. My home. My brother." His fists flex atop his knees. "Loki died as a hero, if you can believe that. Saving me." Rogers doesn't react, so he presses on. "To have these people and places torn away--I could understand that. A series of painful chapters in the overlong book of my life. But the grief was mine, and so I could bear it." When he looks up, starlight glints here and there through the cloud-knotted sky. Perhaps one of those bright beacons is Asgard, the light of its glorious past still making its long journey to Earth across millions of years. "If my deeds have cost me, so be it. But today my failure has hung the grief of a thousand worlds about my shoulders and it is too much to bear."

"Hey. No. _Hell_ no." Rogers stands, seizes Thor's arm, tries to pull him to his feet. It doesn't take. Rogers is strong, but Thor, even at his most humble, is a force of nature. "This was never on you alone. The number of links in the chain that had to break for this to happen--if we'd a way to destroy the Tesseract the first time we got our hands on it. If he hadn't gotten the other Stones from--from wherever he got them. If we hadn't had to ask Wakanda for everything. If I'd been stronger, or smarter--"

Thor shoves upright and pulls Rogers against his chest. At first Rogers' hands come up, as if to strike, or at least to block a blow. Then he drops his arms and lets his chin be crushed against Thor's shoulder. The Rogers that Thor knows is not a man to speak first with his fists. Thor is not the only one, he is sure, whose past few years have been star-crossed and shadow-haunted.

As men they embrace, as friends they pull apart and lean against each other, shoulder to shoulder. "Come," Thor says. "Eat. Drink. Mourn the dead. Tomorrow we figure out what comes next." He claps Rogers' back. "Tonight we remind ourselves that all is not lost. Not so long as we have friends to pass the drinking-horn and share our stories of the lost."

Rogers is tired enough to let himself be led, back to the circles of light that hold back the darkness. Natasha materializes out of a shadow to receive him, clasping his forearms and speaking words in his ear that Thor does not try to hear. His friend the rabbit sits nearby, atop a gentle rise, clutching a double handful of grass and crooked sticks to his chest. Thor lets his weary body drop to the soil beside him there. He rests one hand atop the rabbit's tiny head, just for a heartbeat, then another. Just long enough to still the poor creature's trembling.

There is still light in the universe. All is not lost, for there is always more to lose. Thor tries to be thankful for that, but in his heart, fear takes deep root and chokes out gratitude before it can grow.


End file.
